The 2026 World Cup has come to an end. With the expansion to 48
teams, the tournament produced too many low-quality matches and dragged on for
more than 40 days. In the end, it was still the top four ranked teams in the
world competing for the title. Spain proved superior, crushing Argentina to
claim the championship.
Spain’s possession-based style of play has been heavily criticized in recent years: too many sideways and backward passes, low efficiency, no effective shots, and an inability to break down defenses. Instead, it drained their own stamina. Many teams imitated Spain’s tiki-taka, losing their traditional strengths and ending up with sterile possession. At this World Cup, traditional powers like Germany, the Netherlands, and Brazil all fell short. The so-called Samba football, iron-blood football, and total football have all faded. In today’s industrialized, highly professionalized football, individual flair is lost, and team traditions have disappeared. Brazil’s performance was no better than a mid-table La Liga side, Germany looked like a relegation-threatened Premier League team, and Argentina was one of the few sides still retaining some identity.
Early Spanish tiki-taka required two conditions: a generation of players raised together with superb technique and chemistry, and—most importantly—having a genius like Messi. The idea was to wear down opponents with endless passing, waiting for defensive lapses to strike. Spain popularized this “tiki-taka,” and it spread worldwide, even excessively. But there is only one Messi. After his retirement, Spain lost its edge. The weaknesses of possession football became clear: opponents could sit deep and counterattack, exploiting gaps. Against a compact defense, tiki-taka was ineffective. Endless passing failed to tire opponents or create openings, often backfiring. Many matches saw teams dominate possession but lose. In fact, this style resembled Brazil’s old habit of recycling the ball in defense before launching sudden attacks—just moved further upfield.
Pep Guardiola amplified tiki-taka globally, dominating the Premier League for a decade. But in recent years, his tactics have been countered. He shifted toward speed and efficiency, emphasizing pressing and quick transitions. In decisive matches this season, Manchester City under him no longer relied on pure possession. Guardiola’s success was also built on resources—he always coached elite clubs with vast capital, talent, and technology. If he were at Espanyol, West Ham, or Cologne, his achievements would be modest. His system football consumed players’ creativity, making matches mechanical and homogenized. This sameness was evident at the World Cup.
Spain’s triumph came because they corrected the flaws of old tiki-taka. Their new “possession 2.0” was aggressive: passing to stretch defenses, then piercing with runs and through balls, quickly creating shots. After losing the ball, they pressed immediately—blocking passing lanes, covering, doubling up, fouling tactically—denying opponents any buildup. Once regaining possession, they attacked relentlessly. Players like Maya and Nico Williams constantly drove into the flanks, shooting, passing, and forcing fouls, exhausting France and Argentina. This aggressive possession overwhelmed opponents. Even Messi’s
brilliance was nullified; Spain’s collective system rendered him ineffective.
Argentina’s Messi-centric individualism is outdated. They stumbled into the final through grit, luck, and external factors. Street football tactics—rough play, testing referees’ limits, provoking opponents into conflict, then countering—reflect Argentina’s national character. Historically, Argentina was once among the richest nations, a white-majority society, and flirted with fascism. But industrialization brought decline, leaving the country struggling. Instead of adapting, Argentina clung to past glory, self-important and resistant to change. Their football mirrored this: rough, complaint-driven, overly reliant on individual talent. With Maradona gone and Messi aging, the next genius is uncertain. In the final, Argentina was pinned back, unable to muster a shot. Spain’s advanced collective style crushed their street football individualism. Messi’s “walking football” required teammates to feed him, but he didn’t defend, leaving Argentina short-handed. Spain didn’t even man-mark him—just rotated coverage around him. Even a genius was powerless. Spain made Argentina look amateurish.
This World Cup broke records: number of teams, number of matches, number of controversies. Misjudgments were rampant, even presidents intervened in cards. Tickets were expensive, matches fragmented, hosted across multiple countries, creating chaos. Was it necessary to expand so much, lowering quality and lengthening the schedule? Rumor has it the next edition may expand further. The World Cup is more popular than the Olympics, generating immense profit. This edition even had Trump stealing the spotlight, debating whether the sport should be called “soccer” or “football.” At least by the next tournament, he’ll be out of office.
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